Free Echoes of the Past (Demon Squad) by Tim Marquitz Page A

and sitting at the location I’d been given, to the exact step.
    He looked up as soon as the clouds parted between us. “Come to gloat, have you?” His voice was quiet, soft, carrying none of its usual forcefulness.
    I pulled another bullet out and dropped it into the clouds, just in case. “I only came to talk.” I didn’t see the point in kicking him when he was down…not yet, at least. There was nothing to lose by playing nice. I had time for Plan B. C through Z were all the same.
    Azrael stood. He wore the same black robes as he had the last time I’d seen him, but now they hung loosely across his emaciated frame. Pale, his skin stretched taut across his sharp features, he still looked like death warmed over, but there was none of the intimidation that had been such an integral part of his being. He looked like an old man, counting the minutes until the end came.
    Bereft of his powers, which Raguel had inherited, Azrael looked so…normal. There were none of the obsidian clouds that whirled about his feet or any of the fire in his gaze. He stood on the cloudy surface of Limbo and his eyes were a murky brown. I let my senses loose and felt the barest hint of his essence, little more than a pittance to keep him among the living. The cold wash of the tomb had been replaced by a numb emptiness of a disconnected soul. He had truly been forsaken. He was nothing more than skin and bones with an immortal spirit.
    “I’ve nothing to tell you, Triggaltheron.” Azrael shook his head. “You were given the opportunity for answers, but you chose to stand against me. Leave me to my banishment.” He dismissed me with a casual wave. “At least I know I won’t suffer alone.” The angel laughed, the sound lacking his trademark graveyard grumble. It had more than enough stubbornness to make up for it.
    I walked over and stood right before him, meeting his cold gaze. Without any hesitation, I yanked my gun out and shot him in the foot. So much for plan A.
    Azrael shrieked and fell backward, crashing to the ground to clutch at his wound. The clouds swirled and I brushed them aside as I closed the distance between us. He looked at me with fury in his eyes, and I shot him in the hand.
    Once more, Azrael’s shout echoed through Limbo, my ears ringing in its wake. He scrambled toward the cover of the smoke, but I stalked him, staying right on his heels. Before he could get further than a few yards, I stepped down on his injured foot and pinned it to the ground. He growled and clutched at my ankle with his good hand, trying to pry himself loose. I set the barrel of my gun to his thigh.
    “I’m all for suffering, but just so you know, I fully intend to make sure you do the lion’s share of it.” Again, I pulled the trigger.
    Azrael crumpled into a heap. I took a step back but stayed close. It seemed pretty obvious I’d gotten my point across, but you never know with supernaturals . They don’t think like normal people. You can never be sure of what they’ll do. Logic and reason are a foreign concept to them.
    Azrael lay there for a minute, whimpered little breaths spewing from his mouth, but he didn’t move. After another minute, his voice rose in his throat and his gasped complaints turned into a phlegmy chuckle.
    “No matter how much you deny it, Triggaltheron, you are just like your father.” He rolled onto his back and glared up at me, the flicker of a grin at his lips.
    “What a coincidence. That’s exactly who I came to talk to you about.” I moved a step closer. “I guess we’re having a conversation after all.”
    His laughter ended, but I could still see the stolid defiance in his eyes. “Do you truly think you’ll find the answers you seek by torturing me? It would bring me great satisfaction to die knowing I’ve told you nothing of the puzzle that vexes you.”
    “It sounds to me like you and I are contemplating the same end game.” I moved closer, lifted my gun and pointed it at his shin. “Sadly, I